


Fullmetal Pedal

by squidlykitty



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Inspired by Mad Max Series (Movies), Post-Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-13
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2019-06-09 17:37:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15272739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squidlykitty/pseuds/squidlykitty
Summary: Post-Apocalyptic AUAfter a nuclear explosion takes out Central City, Amestris find itself scrambling for order.  Roaming bands of marauders seize control of the towns from what is left of the military, and strange ghosts begin wandering their almost deserted streets.  One small team seeks to restore order to a broken country.  Another small team searches for what broke it.  Both teams must learn to work together or risk losing it all to chaos and distrust.The grains of sand in the hourglass are running out.





	Fullmetal Pedal

_ I am not sorry for who I had to become in order to survive." - Schulyer Peck _

Even inside of headquarters, it was just too damn hot.  The sun glared angrily through the large window, making an oven out of the office.  The air felt utterly thick and stifling, like trying to breathe soup. The wobbly little fan installed on the ceiling tried valiantly to offer some relief, but honestly it was doing more harm than good as it scattered paperwork across the desk of a harrowed looking Amestris military Colonel, looking incredibly uncomfortable in his heavy woolen uniform.  He considered, not for the first time, digging up the grave of the man who had designed the bright blue monstrosity that threatened to smother him. To be fair, the man had probably not accounted for a violently hot climate shift occurring in the next couple of years. . . But the Colonel was not feeling very fair at the moment. 

Colonel Roy Mustang sighed, running too-damp fingers through short black hair.  It was quite impossible to concentrate on all of this paperwork right now, he told himself.  Especially in this heat. Downright inhumane, it was, and besides, he was starting to get a headache.  There was always too much work to do and very little time to do it, which had naturally resulted in long weeks full of sleepless nights.  No matter how much he tried to tell himself that he was still very much a young man, he was still 29 and he couldn't quite pull the kinds of hours he had strove for a decade ago. 

He rubbed his eyes and set about setting the paperwork scattered by the fan back into order.  He could really go for a nice cup of coffee. Even if it was hotter than the devil's wife outside, Roy couldn't help but wish for a nice jolt of caffeine to get him through this latest pile of work. . . But like many luxury items, coffee was little more than a fever dream these days, a shimmering image on the horizon like an oasis promising relief from the unrelenting sun.  Mustang knew better than to chase it, anyone promising you coffee  _ these _ days was more than likely offering you a mouthful of sand in more ways than one.  He allowed his attention to shift to the scene outside of his window, where the ragged remains of his military band drilled diligently under the angry sun.  There were better things to wish for than coffee.

Like a time machine.  Or even just a nice cool breeze. . .

He jumped a little at the quiet thump of paperwork hitting his desk, looking up to see a stern looking blonde woman wearing the bright blue of the Amestris military, the three stripes and two stars on her shoulder marking her as a First  Lieutenant. Roy smiled at her. Ahhh, Riza Hawkeye. His most trusted subordinate and bodyguard. She was also, unfortunately, charged by the other members of his team (and himself, when he was brave enough to admit it) to keep the Colonel on task and working hard. 

"Slacking off again, sir?"  Riza asked him, voice dripping with quiet reproach.  "Mooning over thoughts of miniskirts and brandy, I would guess."

Roy snatched up the papers, shooting her a look with as much energy as he could muster in this damnable heat. "I'll have you know I was thinking of coffee, actually."  He said haughtily, tapping the papers into a neat pile in his hands before glancing over them. "I was thinking how much more effectively I could navigate these reports if I was awake enough to pay attention to them."

Riza's stern expression broken into one of surprise. "How can you even think of coffee in heat like this?" she asked, pausing to fan herself briefly with her hand. "I can barely stand the thought of going outside, let alone looking for a pot of hot coffee." 

"It wouldn't have to be hot.  Could be iced coffee. Ice cold, sweet, and full of caffeine. . . "  Roy sighed dramatically, making a show of melting over his paperwork. Riza rolled her eyes at him.

"Careful, sir.  If you keep sighing like that, you're only going to fill this room with even more hot air."  She gave him a small smile before turning towards the window, looking out at the new recruits sweating it out in the courtyard.  She certainly didn't envy them.

"A joke!  A rare treat indeed from the unshakable First Lieutenant!" Roy grinned at her, sitting back up in his seat and returning his attention to the paperwork.  "You must have brought me some very interesting news for you to be in such good spirits this afternoon."

Riza just hummed noncommittally in response, so Roy scanned the reports.  Food shortages in Youswell, but that had been going on for a while. At last contact, it seemed that the Lieutenant Colonel he had left in charge of the city had gathered up a few citizen alchemists and was attempting to start experimenting with alchemical food production.   He made a quick note in the margins to give them a call as soon as the latest wiring issue was worked out of the phone system. Record numbers of heat-stroke victims at the hospital, which was requesting more supplies. . . They would need to check what was available. Roy turned to the next page and paused, feeling a small flicker of anger start up in his chest.

Bandits, raiding the areas just outside of East City.  In a world already in shambles, there were always those groups looking to take advantage of the sudden cracks in defense and take whatever they could get their hands on.  Amidst all the chaos, many alchemists as well as ordinary citizens had turned to banditry, attempting to stake our their "rightful claim" to power or some other deluded hogwash they trotted out in support of their selfish desires.

Unfortunately for everyone around them, Roy thought, society is built on top of cooperation - not domination and power grabs. The more bandits there were, the more unstable society became, and the more bandits popped out of the woodwork.  It was best to tackle these matters head-on and tackle them quickly to minimize the damage to those around them. 

According to the report, the attacks from this particular band of bandits seemed rather random.  Sometimes they would strike at the outer edges of the city, targeting crumbling buildings that were abandoned years ago.  Sometimes they would raid what was left of the business sectors. One thing that always remained the same was the result: Massive property damage.  So massive, in fact, that felt almost certain that someone had misplaced a decimal point somewhere in their calculations. By all reports, this was a rather small, if irritating, group, so the only way they could be causing this amount of damage would be if they had somehow gotten their hands on a large amount of explosives, or. . . They were being led by a former state alchemist.

Roy drummed his fingers on his desk as he considered the implications of this.  The style and damage of these raids reeked of the Ishval Extermination Campaign, one of the darkest stains on the history of the Amestris military.  This could be a disgruntled former recruit, looking to destroy the country that turned them into a monster, ordering them to slaughter thousands of innocent Ishvallans using the science that they had learned to help the people - not harm them.  Or, it could have been one of the rare few alchemists who had seen the genocide as a means to test the true limits of their power, the kind of sick monster who got a vicious thrill from death and destruction. . . Neither of these options appealed to Roy.  Both were just as likely to further discredit the authority and image of the Amestris military. Both were incredibly dangerous to his people and his cause. Both would need to be put down - and quickly, before they could gather enough support to become truly dangerous.  Dealing with a gang of bandits was bad enough, but dealing with an accomplished veteran alchemist as well. . .

Roy ground his teeth and tossed the papers to the desk, trying very hard not to think of the smoldering bodies of women and children that he had seen not so long ago in Ishval.  His stomach churned. It was happening all over again, no matter how hard he fought to keep this country from tearing itself apart. "Did you read this report, Lieutenant?" He asked Riza, fighting to keep the tension out of his voice.

"Yes, sir."  The First Lieutenant gave him a curt nod.  "And I assume that you have reached the same conclusion that I did, once you examined the evidence."

"Yes.  It sounds like we've got an old war buddy causing trouble on our home turf.  We need to take care of this issue. Quickly." 

"I'll assemble the others at once, sir."  Hawkeye couldn't help but smile a little as she turned to leave the room.  It was good to see the Colonel fired up about something again.

\---

Mustang surveyed his team as they filtered into the room, a ragtag bunch during their best days and a sight more disheveled now.  Everyone looked to be melting slightly in the heat and the wear was beginning to show on their uniforms. Mustang made a mental note to himself to see what he could do about fixing them up - image was, after all, a large part of what caused the general public to still respect them as officers despite the rather conspicuous lack of true government in these past five years. 

First Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye took her place to the right of Mustang at the meeting table, radiating a cool confidence as always.  She met his gaze and gave him a soft smile before turning her head and resuming her usual, placid expression. Roy honestly wasn't sure that he would have been able to hold the troops together as much as he had without her solid presence at his side.  In the chaos that followed the bomb, it had been Hawkeye who had kept him on task, organizing the other subordinates into re-establishing communication lines and helping to strategically place troops where they would be most able to keep order. 

Speaking of communications. . . Sergeant Major Kain Fuery was the next to take his seat, looking slightly harried as usual.  Fuery was the one who had gotten the generators up and running within days of the initial chaos, working quickly to repair the power grid and route the electricity to where it was most needed first.  He had also been instrumental in securing the public's support of Mustang's endeavors - his youthful energy and honest face had allowed him to become something of a spokesperson for the group's movements.  More than a few recruits had let on that they signed up with Mustang's group as a result of Fuery's public reports.

Warrant Officer Vato Falman was next in line, settling into his chair with a bit of a grimace.  His age was beginning to show, but his mind remained sharp as ever. 2nd Lieutenant Heymans Breda settled in next to him, his stern expression belying his normally affable attitude. The two of them comprised Mustang's information crew and - judging by the pair's expressions - were most likely already aware of the situation that had caused their superior officer to gather them for this meeting. 

Jean Havoc was the last in line, flopping himself down at the last available chair, sighing miserably as he wiped at the sweat that gathered on his brow.  "Do we really still have to wear these terrible wool uniforms?" He complained to his compatriots, fanning himself with the damp collar of his uniform. The others murmured their ascent and even Mustang pulled at his collar in sympathy. The bright blue uniforms had never been the most comfortable to begin with and the spreading desertification of Amestris had only made them increasingly uncomfortable.  They were heavy, hot, and painfully visible. They had never been a terribly popular choice with the enlisted men, although they did cast a rather striking image. 

"Image is very important for us right now."  Hawkeye reminded the group, casting Havoc a steely look.  "We don't have much else to go on to keep order. We have no backup.  It's important that we still look and act the part as much as possible in order to retain as much respect as we can manage in our diminished state."

There was a quiet murmur of grumbling around the table, but everyone present was well-aware of the current state of the military in Amestris and the need for solidarity.  Things had been rather rough all around since they had lost contact with Central following the Bomb, and things had only gotten rougher as one by one they lost contact with the other ranking officers and cities.  Even after communications were re-established, it didn't take long to figure out that desertion was on the rise. One after another, the lines of communication went dead. Bandit raids, mutiny, and even straight up starvation and disease contributed to the gradual crumbling of the military and government structure.  Eventually, Mustang decided that he would need to take it upon himself to restore order and gather troops. He refused to let his country fall into ruin and, well, if it managed to make his dream a little closer to reality? He certainly wasn't about to complain. 

Honestly, Roy thought to himself as he stood to call the meeting to order, he would not have been able to accomplish  much at all without his team behind him. And while his life-long dream of becoming Fuhrer seemed to pass a little further beyond his reach with every passing year, at least with their help he had been able to preserve at least some of his beloved country's dignity and to protect as many people as possible. 

"Gentlemen - and Lady, of course - it would appear that we have a bit of a bandit situation near home to deal with."  Mustang spoke calmly as he handed out copies of the report to each member of his team. Falman and Breda, as he had suspected, gave them only a cursory glance before returning their attention to their commanding officer.  Havoc and Fuery gave it a more thorough look, speed-reading for details with practiced ease. Hawkeye merely took hers and set it on the table in front of her, eyes never leaving the Colonel. 

"An unknown group of bandits seem to have taken it upon themselves to prey on the towns of the East Area, raiding and running." Mustang looked over the group, waiting for them to finish their first examination of the paperwork before continuing.  "Their goals are unclear, but it seems that there has been significant property damage in their attacks, although there are no known casualties. This is in itself a major problem, but upon closer examination of the attacks, a disturbing pattern has emerged." 

Falman cleared his throat, catching the attention of the others.  "The destruction has all seemed alchemical in nature, the range and scope of it making it quite likely that this is the work of a powerful alchemist.  One who has had extensive experience in the destructive use of alchemy."

"Thank you, Warrant Officer, that is absolutely correct.  I'm afraid that we might be dealing with one of my old  _ war buddies _ ."  Mustang scowled, the venom in his voice making his feelings on such "friends" perfectly clear to the soldiers assembled.  "I don't need to tell you the dangers of letting a roguge alchemist wreak destruction on what little peace we have managed to secure here.  This matter needs to be dealt with, and quickly, if we intend to keep this area under our control."

Breda settled back in his chair, crossing his arms with a thoughtful expression on his face.  "I don't think we're going to be able to take the fight to them, sir. By all accounts, they disappear straight into the deep desert after their attacks, and we simply do not have the manpower needed to mount a search and capture operation out there.  Not to mention that chasing them into that wasteland would give them the homeland advantage and we simply don't know how many of them there are to begin with."

Mustang nodded, feeling a swell of pride for the intelligence of his men.  "Right. So we're going to need to draw them into our own field of advantage."

"Ah -" Fuery nervously spoke up, straightening his glasses. "Sir, if these bandits are led by a state alchemist defector, we can probably lure them back in with the same sort of bait that caused many alchemists to sign up with the military in the first place.  Money, power, and research materials, right?"

"So it would follow that if we were to disseminate false information about a cache of rare alchemical texts of a powerful nature, located in a building of our choice in an area far away from civilian centers. . ." Hawkeye added with a sly smile. 

"Then we could trap these bandits and beat them at their own game."  Mustang finished. The rest of the group smiled as they looked around at each other.  Now, this was the kind of warfare that they were built for.

\--------

Setting the trap had been easy enough.  Falman and Breda had made their usual rounds, gathering information and letting it "slip" to a few of their more loose-tongued contacts that an important collection of alchemical research was being moved here to the East City for protection.  Havoc and Fuery made a good show of clearing out and fortifying an empty warehouse on the outskirts of town, stating "official business" to anyone who asked what purpose they had in that mostly abandoned district. Hawkeye set herself up on the top floor of the nearby abandoned apartment building, keeping a close watch on the horizon and on the building itself.  And then, they waited.

Waiting was always the worst part of one of these gigs, Mustang thought to himself as he made the rounds in the city, keeping an eye out for any signs of trouble or distress.  It was good to make an appearance, even though his men would often try to convince him to stay safe in the office. He could see their point, really. But he knew it was better to show that he was not afraid than to sit safely locked away where the new realities of their world could not touch him.  He knew all too well the dangers of ordering around troops without seeing the realities of the war around you. 

He eyed the ramshackle buildings around him, all cracked foundations and makeshift barricades, everything covered in a thin layer of desert dust and grime.  Here and there were smatterings of buildings in good repair, fresh paint that had yet to be cracked and faded by the unnaturally pervasive desert sun, but they were few and far between and growing more infrequent with each passing day.  Roy set his mouth in a harsh line. Hope was fading from Amestris and he couldn’t stand watching this happen to his people. He had to get them this win, at least. Something for them to hold onto for a while. If only he could just--

He felt the explosion more than heard it, a solid wall of air slamming into him, followed quickly by a dust cloud that choked the air.  The warehouse district! It couldn't be -

He turned on his heel, bolting towards the explosion as his radio crackled to life.  "Sir!" He could barely make out Hawkeye's tinny voice over the pounding of his feet, but her voice was all the confirmation that he needed.  The bandits had taken the bait.

"Some kind of. . . Truck has just slammed into the outer wall of the City, sir, and there's next to no visibility.  Some kind of sand screen to cover their attack? Over."

Roy snatched up the radio, a vicious grin spreading across his face as his heartbeat pounded in his ears.  The excitement of the chase! "You handle the truck then, I've got the ground. Over!"

"Yes, sir.  Over and Out." 

Roy fought down the odd feeling of glee as he tucked the radio away in his pocket, fast approaching his target.  It had been a very long time since he had had a real battle to fight, a battle that he might actually be able to  _ win  _ for once! 

Still, the closer he got to the warehouse, the thicker the dust cloud became.  It was stinging his eyes and his nose as well and he could barely make out where he was going.  It was a good thing that he had made such a habit of patrolling these city streets - to be honest he might as well be running around blind. 

He skidded to a stop a short distance away from the warehouse's entrance, covering his face with his glove to filter the dust out of the air as he waited and listened for any sign of activity.  The fabric of his ignition gloves smelled faintly of gunpowder and the thick cloth made breathing difficult. Still, it was better than choking on the dust and

-There!

A faint crunch of gravel, somewhere off to his right.  "Halt, in the name of the Amestris military!" He called out, causing an outburst of scuffling from the same direction.  He just barely caught sight of a red-cloaked figure bolting away from him and slamming their hands into the ground with a bright flash of alchemical energy - a fresh dust cloud billowing up to cover their retreat.  The alchemist? That was certainly unusual, though it made his task a bit easier. Generally speaking, rogue alchemists tended to hang back, allowing the grunts of their bandit gangs to scout out the area before diving in themselves.  At least this way he was saved the bother of having to track him down.

Roy was not going to let him get away that easily.  He plunged headlong into the dust, holding his breath as he went, trying not to let the choking air overwhelm him.  His lungs burned with the effort and he could see the edges of his vision going red as he pounded after the figure. After what felt like an eternity, he stumbled to a stop and stood gasping into a patch of open air.  

He was considering making dust-masks an essential part of the Amestris military uniform as soon as he got out of this again.  Dust-masks and miniskirts. It was quite the image, but he banished it quickly from his mind. He needed to focus. He coughed roughly, clearing his lungs, and looked about himself, casting about for any hint of movement that might betray where the bandit had gone. 

An empty street of the warehouse district, half-collapsed buildings standing like dead-eyed sentries on either side of the cracked and disused pavement.  A soft breeze stirring the surrounding dust cloud in a gentle and mesmerizing dance. Otherwise, nothing moved in the silent street.

He walked cautiously forwards, heavy jack boots crunching softly in the dirt as he checked the ground for signs of disturbance, finding none.  That damnable dust cloud had certainly done a fair job of covering the alchemists tracks. Obviously, this was no amateur Mustang was dealing with.  The likelihood of being faced with a fellow veteran of the Ishval Extermination Campaign seemed to increase with every moment, leaving Mustang with a cold feeling in his gut.  It made it all the more important for him to stop this while he could.

Mustang set his expression in a grim scowl as he crept down the street.  He wondered how many bandits were involved in this particular gang. He wondered how many of them were truly loyal and how many were just looking for a measure of safety.  It was always hard to tell with these matters. Sometimes, through either sheer force of personality or power a bandit gang would gather numbers that might rival a small town.  But more often than not, such affairs would quickly fall apart to petty in-fighting or a simple lack of resources. Still, Mustang couldn't help but worry that sooner or later, one of these groups would become large enough to be a real threat to the tense peace he had managed to create within the Eastern District.  He would need to gather more recruits, and quickly, if he was going to be dealing with alchem-

Ah!

A flash of movement caught his eye and the chase was back on, thundering through a back alley. "Stop!"  he bellowed at the figure, deciding to give them one last chance to answer before it was time to bring out the big guns.  "Submit or be fired upon!" The figure ignored him, continuing to run and darting sideways into a narrow alley. Well. He had given warning at least. 

Mustang snapped and the air crackled around his hand, ignition cloth gloves sparking and sending a trail of flame after the movement of the hooded figure as it disappeared around the corner.  There was an ear-piercing scream, and Mustang's stomach dropped as he felt the world slip into slow motion. 

One step. That was not an adult's scream. 

Another. It was far too high-pitched, too new sounding.

Another. That was clearly the scream of a child. 

Another, and he was nearing the exit of the alley now.  The scream was followed by a quiet thud and the soft sound of sobbing.  Had his informant been wrong? Had he gotten the wrong target? 

He hesitated just at the end of the alley, feeling cold all over despite the heat as the soft sounds of misery echoed from between the buildings.  It was a sound too familiar. One he had hoped to never hear again. One he had sworn not to. He felt sick as he lowered his hand, dreading the confirmation of his fears.

He took the final step forward, and the scene came into view. 

Laying on the ground, smoking slightly still, was the hooded figure that he had chased from the warehouse.  They shook slightly as they sat up, clutching their arms to their chest. They looked so much smaller than what Mustang remembered.  Now that they weren't in motion, he could see that the figure was at most 5 foot, surely not fully grown. How could he have missed something so obvious. . .?  There was a tightness in his chest, an almost physical pain as he berated himself for getting so caught up in the moment that he had failed to notice such a simple fact.  He took another step forwards, hand raising slightly, intending to reach out towards the figure -

"Get away from my brother!"  screamed a voice from above as a golden haired child, surely no more than 10, slid down gutter pipe and landed in front of the Colonel.  He was taken aback by the hatred burning in the fierce golden eyes - he had never seen eyes that color before, so striking - and even more taken aback by the sudden crackle of alchemical energy as the child slammed his hands together and touched the ground, resulting in an utter explosion of the earth around them.  Transmutation without an array. . . ?

"Wait-!"  Mustang called out, clambering atop the quickly growing pillars of earth just in time to see the young boy slip around the corner with the hooded figure.  He chased after them, adrenaline rushing through his body and sending his heart pounding fiercely. He had made a mistake, this much was obvious. But he had also apparently found a genius child alchemist and he couldn't let that go.  Besides, he was already this far in, it simply wasn't in his nature to give up before he had all of the answers in hand. 

The boy and the hooded figure hadn't gotten far, hindered as they were by the latter's injury. "Please, wait!" Mustang called out. "I think there has been a terrible mistake!" He skidded to a stop a safe distance away from the two of them, quickly pulling off his ignition cloth gloves and shoving them in his coat pocket before raising his arms in surrender.

"Stay away!" The boy shouted again, but seemed to make no move to go running off again.  He sat clutching desperately to the figure that slouched in his arms, the hood slipping back to reveal another golden-haired youth - badly singed and bleeding, but glaring defiantly at Mustang nonetheless.  He looked to be a good 5 or 6 years older, perhaps somewhere in his late teens despite the fact that he seemed barely more than a foot or so taller than the younger sibling. He struggled to his feet to stand in front of his younger brother, arm flung out protectively before him. 

"Stay away from us, you've done enough!" the older brother snapped, still managing to look fierce even as he shuddered in pain.

"Please."  He said quietly, his voice thick with emotion.  "Please. Let me help."

The younger boy glared at him and then flicked his eyes around the alley.  There were no obvious avenues of escape, and he certainly wasn't going to get very far dragging  his elder brother's body around. And he didn't look to be in much of a shape for a run at the moment either.  "Brother." He called out softly, grabbing at a sleeve of the blood red cloak and shifting the singed cloth downwards.  "I think he's telling the truth."

Mustang caught sight of a flash of metal as the elder brother lowered his arm, still glaring defiantly.  Armor. . . ? Mustang wondered as he lowered his arms as well. It would seem that they had at least been able to reach a truce.  "I have experience in treating burns," he told the boys softly, speaking as he would to a startled animal. More experience than he would have liked to admit to himself, in all honesty.  "May I have a look at your wounds?"

"Why, so you can rub salt in them, you military bastard?!"  The elder brother spat, immediately resuming a tense defensive position.  "I ain't stupid, you know!"

"I implied nothing of the sort."  Mustang fought to keep the amusement out of his voice.  It had been a long time since he had been faced with a belligerent youth and well, though he wished it was under better circumstances, it was certainly a breath of fresh air compared to all the empty-faced adults he had been surrounded with of late. 

The elder boy bristled with offense, but turned away as the younger brother lay a careful hand on his shoulder, minding the burns.  "How do we know we can trust you, sir?" The younger brother asked, all practicality and politeness. He seemed strangely mature for his age, his voice steady and diction very clear for such a young child.  He also had a calm air about him, which was a stark contrast to the fuming elder brother who still stood on guard in front of him. If it wasn't obvious from their similarly striking appearances, he might have wondered if the two of them were related at all. 

"Hm.  A good question, indeed."  Mustang inclined his head towards the younger brother.   "I acknowledge that it would be a very difficult thing indeed for you to trust me at this point, but I would like to point out that I was investigating a large amount of damage to our City's border wall.  With such a large explosion, I had no choice but to assume foul play."

"Ah. Well."  The brothers glanced at each other, the elder flushing bright red under the younger's accusing eyes.  "I'm afraid -" The elder brother suddenly toppled forward and the younger brother gasped, darting forward to grab the elder as he collapsed to the ground with a heavy clunk.  "Brother! Are you -"

"I was wondering how long the shock and adrenaline was going to keep him going."  Mustang murmured, taking a few steps towards the pair of boys. When the youngest showed no signs of attempting to stop him, Mustang quickly closed the distance between them and knelt before the boys, reaching out to pull back the cloak as much as possible to get a better look at the wounds.  Both he and the younger brother sucked in a breath through their teeth at the sight of the angry welts on his chest and face. It looked like the boy's right side had taken the brunt of the attack, but with the way the child was laying, it was difficult to get a good look at him.

"2nd degree."  Mustang sighed.  "Not the worst it could have been, but certainly more than this situation called for from what I can see.  I'm truly sorry."

The younger brother made a noise in the back of his throat that Mustang took to mean something along the lines of 'I don't forgive you, but you do at least seem to be sorry so that's something anyway.'

"Listen.  I need to make a call back to headquarters.  Your brother is going to need some medical attention and I can provide it there.  Can you trust me just a little bit further?"

The younger brother looked suspiciously at Mustang, then down to his collapsed brother and back.  "I don't know that I have much of a choice in the matter either way." He muttered, and Mustang was once again struck by the strangeness of the oddly mature tone.  Had he misjudged his age and he was just abnormally short like his brother? It was difficult to tell, but Mustang knew the kid couldn't be older than 11 at the most.  It gave him a bit of a chill to be honest, and he wondered what kind of trouble he had gotten himself into this time. 

Shaking off the feeling, Mustang pulled his radio from out of his pocket.  "Second Lieutenant, the situation here has been handled. What is your status? Over."  He paused, waiting for the radio to crackle back to life with her answer. But the minutes passed and an answer did not come. 

"Second Lieutenant? What is your status? Over."  He could feel his heart sink as the silence stretched onwards, so he gave it one more try.  "Riza? Riza are you there?"

\---------

Riza would never admit it, but it was a little miserable being left up in the lookout's nest.  Up here, there was nothing but the wind, the sand, and the oppressive heat of the sun glaring down at her.  The back of her neck itched as a trickle of sweat creeped its way downwards, her skin prickling in its path.

She shifted position and adjusted her binoculars, staring out across the horizon.  She couldn't be sure, of course, but she had a hunch that the bandits would almost certainly be coming at them from the west.  It was, after all, the direction of the ever-growing desert, where many of the bands kept their hideouts in the abandoned ghost cities that littered the sands.  She lowered the binoculars to rub the grit from her eyes, part of the constant film of sand and dust that the hot desert wind carried to them. Sometimes, it felt like she would never be clean again. 

She shifted again at the sound of claws clicking on the concrete rooftop beside her as Black Hayate, her faithful companion, settled down next to her with a quiet huff.  She reached out to gently stroke his fur, grateful for the companionship, before returning her attention back to the warehouse she had been watching for the past several days.  Surely it couldn't be much longer for the bait to reach the bandits. After all, the last town they had struck had only been a few miles away.

Suddenly, Black Hayate sat up straight, letting out a quiet but authoritative "boof!" and running towards the edge of the roof, facing east.  Hawkeye stiffened and put the binoculars up to her eyes once more, where she could just barely make out a dust cloud approaching from the horizon.  There were very few travelers on the road these days, could that be. . . ?

She adjusted the magnification, working to get a clearer image of the approaching vehicle.  The wind picked up, blasting the dust away from the vehicle for just a moment and giving Riza a clear look.  What in the world. . . ? 

It looked like a semi truck.  Or rather, what was possibly once considered a semi truck.  In all truth, the thing barreling towards the town at almost impossible speeds appeared to be some kind of unholy amalgam of several different kinds of trucks, all welded together to form some sort of gigantic franken-convoy that looked capable of housing a few dozen people at least.  It was well adorned with spikes and skulls, creating an effect that was altogether rather tacky more than it was truly intimidating. At the very least, the size of the thing did not bode well for the safety of the city and she was reaching for the radio when the franken-truck picked up an insane amount of speed and rammed itself directly into the retaining wall of the city, smashing through it with ease.  She caught sight of a flash of alchemical energy and a thick cloud of dust billowed up around the vehicle, shielding it from view. She turned to the dog and gave him a sharp nod. "Hayate! Guard this post!" She ordered, getting a sharp bark in response as she draped the binoculars around the dog's neck. 

Hawkeye dug out the radio as she ran back into the building and down the stairs. "Sir! Some kind of. . . Truck has just slammed into the outer wall of the City, sir, and there's next to no visibility.  Some kind of sand screen to cover their attack? Over."

Her footsteps echoed loudly in the stairwell, almost covering the sound of Colonel Mustang's reply.  "You handle the truck then, I've got the ground. Over!"

"Yes, sir. Over and out."  She replied, tucking the radio safely away.

She threw open the doors to the building and ran towards the city wall, feeling the familiar calm of battle fall over her as she ran.  It was good to be back in action, she thought to herself. Doing some good. Some real and tangible good. 

She pulled the collar of her coat up and over her face as she ran into the alchemical dust storm, trying her best to keep the dirt out of her eyes and mouth without much success.   Even through the thick wool of her uniform, the air was simply unbreathable, thick and hot. Riza sucked in as deep a breath as she could manage without choking and held it, speeding through the storm in the direction of the truck.

The wind howled in her ears and the dirt stung her cheeks.  She kept moving forward.

She could feel her heartbeat in her ears. She kept moving forward.

Her chest began to burn. She kept moving forward.

Her ears began to ring. She kept. . . Moving. . .

Just when she felt that she couldn't possibly hold out any longer, Riza found herself on the other side of the dust cloud, gasping and coughing in the suddenly clear air.  She rubbed at her stinging eyes, fighting to regain composure as she eyed up the monstrous metal vehicle that towered over her.

Well.  She could feel a smile pulling at the edges of her mouth.  That sure was. . . Something. 

The massive truck looked even more tacky close up, absolutely bedecked with skulls and spikes on every possible surface, basically screaming compensation of some sort.  The metal was scarred with the tell-tale signs of alchemical fusing, the metal warped and lined with the unnaturally straight lines that were so often a by-product of a hasty array.  Despite the hasty skull-bedecked fusion job, the engine roared like a beast and the chrome was polished to a high enough sheen to blind an unprepared man. Through the windshield, she could just make out the shape a horseshoe hanging from the rearview mirror. Riza decided that she liked this tacky truck despite herself.  It was unrepentant if nothing else, standing as it was in the middle of a dusty maelstrom, a shining and solid rock in the middle of a raging sea.

A rock that was a veritable fortress of a truck and that she would need to infiltrate.  She shook her head a bit to clear her mind, settling back into the cold calmness she had learned to don before a firefight. 

Riza cleared the rest of the dust from her face and ran forward, not needing to worry about concealing the noise of her passage beneath the rumble of the idling engine.  She pressed herself against the side of the truck, sneaking beneath the window as she made her way around the perimeter of the vehicle. Whoever these bandits were, they didn't seem to find it necessary to leave a guard on their base.  Riza considered this fact, turning it over in her mind. This could mean one of three things. 

One, the guards were inside of the vehicle, ready to fend off any attackers that might try to enter.  This was a fairly likely possibility, as there was no reason for the bandits to leave their obviously highly armored vehicle if there was no need to do so. They would have the advantage of home territory and may have lain several traps to waylay any unsuspecting enemies who might try to break in.

Two, they were very inexperienced bandits and did not think to post a guard or worry about the safety of their home base.  This would certainly make Riza's job a lot easier and the hasty looking alchemical marks on the truck seemed to support this as a possibility. 

Or three, this mission was a grab and run and they did not expect to be away from their vehicle for more than a few minutes.  This would mean that Riza's window of time to gain control of their getaway vehicle was closing quickly and she couldn't afford to waste much more time on figuring out the best plan of action.

She crept back towards the front of the truck, and crouching beneath the driver's side door, Riza removed her gun from her holster, took a deep breath, grabbed the handle and flung the door open wide, preparing herself to rip the driver from the cab by their arm and -

It was empty. 

Riza paused, staring at the empty cab, every muscle tensed for action that didn't come.  The hot air smelled like dust and gasoline and she forced herself to breath it slowly while she waited.  One heartbeat. Two. Three. She relaxed slowly, lowering her gun a little as she moved forward and into the cab.  Perhaps they really had posted no guard at all. 

She glanced quickly around the cab of the vehicle before heading towards the door to the back tucked in-between the two bucket seats.  It was a full steel door and Riza barely suppressed the urge to roll her eyes as she saw the doorknob was a small skull. A part of her wanted to meet the owner of this truck just so that she could have a short, incredulous talk about their tastes in interior decorating.  But she had a job to do, so she grabbed the (sigh, ridiculous) skullknob and let herself into the main compartment of the truck, gun at the ready. 

Instinctively, Riza jumped backwards into the cab as a flash of movement warned her a split second before a large adjustable wrench flew towards where Riza's head had just been with enough force to dent the metal door. She raised her pistol, jerking her aim towards the movement, and stopped just short of pulling the trigger on a young, blonde woman in a mechanic's jumpsuit who was just now hefting a new and equally dangerous looking wrench.

The two met eyes before the young woman's gaze flicked to the gun and she very slowly lowered her wrench before dropping it with a clatter to the floor of the truck.  They regarded each other warily, the silence broken only by the rumble of the engine as they sized one another up. 

"Well?"  the young woman asked finally, defiantly meeting Riza's eyes again.  "Are you going to shoot me or what?"

Riza considered the girl a moment before answering.  She looked scared, but strong. She held her hands clenched into fists and her body posture screamed that she was ready to fight if she had to.  "That depends," Riza said coldly, "on whether or not you are consorting with the group of bandits who have been terrorizing the Eastern Area."

"I-what?"  The girl flushed a deep red as she sputtered, seeming to vacillate between angry and embarrassed.  "Bandits? Terrorists? I-hnnngh!" She stomped her foot, outright glaring at Riza now. "Do you know how ridiculous you sound? Do I look like a bandit to you?!"

Riza almost allowed herself a smile - almost - as she lowered her gun and looked pointedly around at the main room of the truck.  The gaudy skull-and-spikes-style extended to the living quarters as well it seemed. To her right was a small sitting area, a round booth-style table that was upholstered in black and red leather.  The table itself had an intricately carved pillar of skulls holding it up. She glanced to her left to see a surprisingly advanced looking automail workshop, complete with what looked like a medical cot - or what might pass for one in a gothic mausoleum.  Further back was a decidedly ominous looking alchemy lab with a red array painted on the ground in what appeared to be blood, along with several rows of bookshelves that appeared to have their own gargoyles sitting on top of each. She looked back to the young girl and raised an eyebrow.

The girl looked around herself for a moment and flushed even darker as she seemed to realize Riza's point.  "That's just Ed's stupid -" the girl sputtered, seemed to catch herself, and then continued, "Listen, I didn't build this thing, alright?  I just keep it running!"

"Oh?  And who do you keep it running for?" Riza asked calmly, mentally filing away the name "Ed" for future reference.

"Now why would I tell you anything?  For all I know,  _ you're  _ the bandit!  You come barging into my home, point a gun at me, insult me, and then demand information?  I'll have you know I'm a much better business woman than that!"

"Is that so?"

"As the alchemists might say, 'equivalent exchange!'  I'm not going to tell you a thing until you tell me  _ your _ purpose in barging into my house first!"

"That's fair, I suppose."  Riza acknowledged, holstering her weapon in a show of faith.  "My name is Second Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye and I am here under the command of Colonel Roy Mustang, investigating a gang of bandits led by an alchemist who have been terrorizing the area recently, causing massive property damage.  Now. Who are you?"

"Winry."  the young girl said, seeming to relax a bit although her tone of voice was still ice cold.  "I'm the mechanic that keeps this truck and a couple of idiot boys running as best as I can."  She walked cautiously over to the seating area, sliding into the booth and gesturing for Riza to do the same. "So you're with the military then?" She asked, and Riza noted the angry bitterness in her words.  A sore subject, perhaps?

"Yes."  Riza said, keeping her tone carefully neutral as she settled down into the booth as well.  "Or what's left of it."

Winry drummed her fingers on the table, narrowing her eyes at Riza.  "Were you involved in Ishval?"

Ishval?  Riza felt a sharp stab of shock and guilt at the name.  This girl didn't look like she should have any particular ties to that horrible ordeal.  But then, with so many dead and with such a controversial war, it was hard to say how any one person could be connected to it.  Riza took a breath and fought to keep her tone and voice neutral. ". . . I believe it is my turn to ask a question, Winry." Riza met Winry's gaze until the younger girl looked away.  "Why exactly did you ram a giant truck through the city wall?"

"To get in, of course.  We can't exactly drive this thing through the gate."  Winry rolled her eyes at the Lieutenant, clearly not willing to give out any information that wasn't specifically asked for.  Riza had to admire that kind of loyalty, though she had to wonder where it came from. Why was a girl like this hanging out with bandits anyway? "Now.   _ Were you involved in Ishval? _ " Winry repeated, pronouncing each word with its own small stab of anger.  

"Yes."  Riza admitted, unmoved and unblinking.  She would keep her cool and she would handle this, even if the girl insisted on dragging out every dark shame she had to share.  She was no stranger to this kind of conversation, after all. It was one she had had many times since returning from the war. "I served as a sniper in the war. Why did you want to get into the city?"

"I didn't, a couple of idiots I know did and I was just following their plan, despite my own complaints.  Did you kill anyone?"

Riza managed not to flinch, but a pained look flickered across her face for an instant.  This girl went straight for the jugular, didn't she? "Yes. Many. Some who even deserved it.  Many who did not." Riza fought down the feelings of guilt at the anger in the young girl's eyes.  She had been through all this before. She was not proud of what she had done, but she had made a promise to herself that she would never lie about it.  She owed them that much. "What did the 'couple of idiots' want into the city for?"

"Some kind of alchemical research treasure trove, apparently.  Which I  _ told  _ them sounded exactly like a trap, and Al agreed with me and -"

Riza smiled.  Al, then. Another name.  Winry hissed through her teeth, catching her mistake too late.

"Well, you're here so I already know that it was definitely a trap and you must have been behind it, right? Wait - no, don't answer that, that wasn't a question.  The question is - what are you going to do with the idiots that you catch in your trap?"

"We. . ."

The radio crackled to life in Riza's pocket.   "Second Lieutenant, the situation here has been handled. What is your status? Over."  Riza pulled out the radio to answer it but Winry snatched it out of her hand before she could signal the Colonel back.

"Handled?   _ Handled how? _  What does that mean?"

"I. . . I'm not sure, honestly, Winry.  The plan was to lure out the bandits and eliminate them while I com-"

"Eliminate?"  Winry gasped, jumping to her feet and clutching the radio to her chest.  No! They wouldn't, would they? She could feel her hands beginning to shake.

"These bandits. . .are they important to you?"

"I. . . I told you, they're not bandits, they're- "

"Second Lieutenant? What is your status? Over."

"They're my friends."

**Author's Note:**

> So hey everyone, thanks for reading. This one has been sitting on my hard drive for almost two years now - I'm only just getting up the courage to post it. It was originally written for NaNoWriMo, and then edited in the following months. I currently have 10 chapters written, but I am willing to continue it if there are people wanting to read it! I have the whole plot line written down, but it will wind up being a real War and Peace contender in the end - it's a long, long journey.


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